Enslaved
by Built on the Horizon
Summary: Slavery AU. As Head Slave, Hermione runs the House of Weasley, a great accomplishment for a Mudblood. But a werewolf slave and figures from her past threaten the status quo. Dark.
1. Chapter 1

**Enslaved**

The slave's entrance to the family Malfoy's Manor was black, hidden and functional, muck unlike the lavish front entrance, long hedges leading to a doorway overlaid with gold, inscribed with Latin phrases and silver carvings of venomous lizards.

Slave Hermione Granger had only entered through the grand entrance once before, ghosting the footsteps of her former Lord Master. Now, though, Hermione knocked at the slave's entrance and waited until a scrawny slave boy younger than herself opened the door. A black band of leather encircled the boy's neck, much simpler than the thin black leather at the base of her own neck, red thread sewn around the edges leading to a red and gold clasp.

The young slave boy's eyes widened as they locked onto her high status collar. 'W-what do you want?' he stuttered.

'I am Hermione Granger of the family Weasley. My Lord Master wishes to buy from Lord Malfoy's stock.'

The boy nodded quickly and stepped aside to allow her entrance. The formalities dealt with, Hermione smiled at the nervous slave.

'I would understand if you didn't want to tell Lord Malfoy yourself.' She spoke soothingly. 'Is there a place I can wait for him?'

The boy nodded again. 'Master is in his study, you could kneel in the hall…' he trailed off and glanced at Hermione.

'That would be lovely, thank you.' Hermione smiled again and the boy flushed at the gratitude.

He led the Weasley slave through the kitchen in the slave wing, bustling with other slaves and the occasional grubby house-elf. The instant the two stepped through the large double doors at the end, Hermione knew she had entered the Lord's manor. Silencing charms ensured the grandiose hall was still and foreboding.

'This way.' The boy muttered quietly and scurried up the large staircase.

Hermione followed confidently. Though her current Master's home is more humble, she was used to the lavish declarations of wealth from her last Master.

'Wait here.' The slave instructed, stopping outside an ornately carved door. He hesitated for a long moment then dropped his voice to a whisper. 'Stay kneeling, even though he's not here yet.'

Hermione didn't need the advice, though she obeyed it anyway, dropping to her knees outside the door, sitting comfortably on her heels, her hands folded in her lap in the appropriate position of respect while visiting a Lord. Her eyes were lowered even though her head wasn't bowed, and she noticed the slave boy disappear back the down the stairs.

Hermione waited patiently for over a quarter of an hour until she heard heavy-falling footsteps approaching her. Expensive leather shoes stopped in front of her, belonging to a young man, probably her own age, with slicked back blond hair and an arrogant stance.

'You're not one of mine.' He stated. Hermione did not speak as she had not been directly addressed, and she had been trained better than that. 'Did Father give you to me as an early birthday present?'

A cold long finger touched the side of her chin and angled her neck to reveal the family crest on the clasp of her collar.

'Are you a Weasley prize, slave?' the man sneered.

'Yes, Lord.' Hermione said quietly. 'I have come on behalf of my Lord Master to do business with the Head of the House.'

'You expect me to believe the Weasley's can afford my Father's stock?' the young man sneered, confirming himself to be Draco Malfoy, son of the Lord.

He curved his lips slowly, observing the kneeling woman before him. 'I also don't believe they could afford such a pretty pleasure slave… What's your pedigree?'

Hermione lowered her eyes again as Draco leant against the opposite wall. 'I am a Mudblood, sir.'

'Ah, that explains it then.' Draco scrutinized her over his crossed arms. 'Go on then, tell me your providence.'

Hermione had long since memorized her providence, the documentation describing her previous owners, prices and training.

'I was sold by my Muggle parents at the age of six when I displayed magical awareness. At nine I was purchased from the Ministry by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. My Lord Masters trained me well, and I became the personal property of my Lord Master Sirius Black at age fourteen. In accordance to his Will, after his death, I was gifted to the noble house of Weasley and assigned to my Lord Master Ronald Weasley.'

'That slimy git?' Draco spat. He stalked back over to her and reached out a hand to touch her hair.

The silver head of a black cane in the shape of a hissing snake hit sharply on Draco's outstretched hand. He winced and snatched it back quickly.

'Now, now, Draco.' A voice as smooth and deceptive as an invisibility cloak said. 'What have I told you about playing with other people's toys?'

Draco begrudgingly took a step backwards and stalked down the hall. Hermione raised her eyes to take in the tall form of Lucius Malfoy.

'And what is your business here?' he questioned.

'My Lord Master wishes to buy from your stables.' Hermione stated clearly.

'And your… Lord Master cannot do so on his own?' Lucius sneered.

'His business is of no concern of yours.' Hermione said. 'Just know that I am the representative of the Weasley House and entirely capable of handling the transactions.'

Lucius nodded and waved a hand impatiently. 'Well stand up then, lets see how capable you are.'

Hermione stood gracefully and linked her hands behind her back, chin raised under Lucius' scrutiny.

'You must be the Head slave, a collar like that, Arthur wouldn't spend that much on anyone less.'

'You are correct. I run the Weasley house.'

'Very well then.' Lucius indicated down the hallway. 'This way to the stables. What is your Master interested in purchasing?'

They walked through the grandiose dark manor, Hermione keeping in step behind and to the side of Lucius, the appropriate and respectful positioning.

'Partially human with some degree of magical ability. Preferably one that has outlived its usefulness to you.' Hermione recited.

'Specific categories.' Lucius commented. 'What purpose will it serve.'

Lucius led her outside under the grey sky and along a stone path. Several other slaves milled around, carrying items and attending to the grounds. As soon as Lucius' imposing form approached, the nearby slaves bowed low and shifted quickly away.

'I am sure you are aware of the family Weasley's penchant for experimentation.' Hermione said and Lucius smiled cruelly in understanding.

'I have just the stock.'

A barn made of black wood, double doors and imposing was where Lucius stopped as an older slave crept forward to open the doors for his Master. The strong stench of cramped bodies living in a small space hit Hermione hard. Sweat, urine and faeces stunk through the entire barn, making the stale air almost toxic to breathe. Hermione choked back the urge to bury her nose and mouth in her robe sleeve.

With a lazy tap of his cane, Lucius Malfoy breathed deeply and comfortably once before taking off at a fast pace through the barn. Hermione had one full breath of fresh air before Lucius began to walk and the acrid stench of urine returned. She followed after him quickly and the clean air returned.

Even though Hermione had never cast a charm in her life, she easily recognised the air cleansing bubble surrounding Lucius.

The magic was an awkward size, she couldn't walk constantly within the bubble, lest she break the laws of acceptable relations between slaves and Lords, but her stomach couldn't cope with the foul stench in the air. Hermione settled into an unrhythmic pattern of holding a breath for as long as possible before stumbling forward to steal clean air. They walked past rows of identical cells, grey bars bolted to the wooden walls with no discernable door or lock. There was one inhabitant in each small cell, all manner of part humans, dark creatures and beasts. Some were howling or wailing, some moaned pitifully or clutched the bars of its cell, but all were collared and chained to the dirty floor.

Lucius stopped in front of one cell, no different or marked from the others. The inhabitant was tucked away into the darkness at the back, a dirty chain trailing into the shadows.

Lucius tapped the bars with his cane and the chain shifted.

'Up.' He commanded.

Finally stopped, Hermione was able to breathe easier standing behind Lucius and watched in fascination as the figure inside was brought forward.

'You'll understand the unpredictability; full moon is a week away.' Lucius commented.

A figure was dragged forward by the magically pulled chain towards them. Tight wiry muscles bunched under thin, pale skin as the clearly male figure struggled against the pull. Boney knees scraped against wood, reopening old wounds to match his bloodied bare feet. The heavy collar and chain was impenetrable, the collar itself looked to be made of solid steel, glinting in the dim light.

The man came to rest, kneeling pressed against the bars, his head dragged down under the weight of the collar. The hair that hung limply in front of his face was light brown with flecks of grey, probably premature. Scars covered his entire body, the most prominent being a huge ragged bite mark on his left shoulder.

'A week before full moon and he is already feeling the effects?' Hermione clarified.

'My potions master was able to brew the concoction which extends a werewolf's cycle.' Lucius said with more than a hint of pride. 'It serves my purpose.'

'What was its purpose?' Hermione questioned, stepping closer to examine the potential purchase.

Without warning, the werewolf lurched towards her. He lashed out, hands scrabbling to grip at her robes, face snarling and pressed against the bars of his cage. Sharp yellowed teeth bared threateningly as Lucius' cane flicked between Hermione and the cage and pulled her back.

'The bit of a feral and out of control werewolf in the week leading up to the full moon,' Lucius said calmly even as Hermione's heart hammered within her chest, 'though not infectious, causes ceaseless excruciating pain enough to rival the Cruciatus curse.'

'Is… is there a cure?' Hermione forced out, adrenaline still pumping through her system.

'None. The subject must endure the pain until the new moon. It was a suitable punishment for misbehaving slaves.'

_Two weeks._ Hermione had endured the curse before, as punishment, or "corrective procedures" during her training at the Ministry, and a handful of times at the House of Black, usually only for a few moments, and never longer than ten minutes. To be in that much pain for days on end…

The werewolf watched her carefully with amber eyes –pupils so blown they looked almost yellow in comparison –pitifully scratching his head against the bars, a low whine beginning in the base of his throat.

'Behave, Lupin.' Lucius warned, the end of his cane driving into what little flesh the werewolf had on this thigh. The man gasped out scurried back from the bars.

Hermione looked towards Lucius, keeping her eyes downcast. 'May I inspect the stock?'

Lucius shifted the slim cane through his fingers and struck the silver figurehead of the fierce serpent against the bars.

'P_atefacio obfirmo_.' He murmured, and the bars of the cell vanished. The snake's bared fangs levelled at the man's face. 'Knees, werewolf.'

Genuine terror entered Lupin's eyes and he scrambled to kneel, legs spread on the disgusting ground, head bent in fear, not submission. He drew sharp panicked breathes as Hermione stepped closer, thin chest rising and falling. She stopped close to him, watching his eyes flick rapidly from her shoes to the floor.

Hermione rested one hand on his lank hair and Lupin shuddered in expectation of a blow.

'Look at me.' Hermione commanded gently.

Lupin hesitated slightly, his head shaking in denial. Hermione traced a finger down the side of his face and cupped his jaw line.

'Look at me, pup.' She spoke again, her voice firmer.

The conflicted werewolf turned his handsome face up towards her. He blinked rapidly, glancing at her hand on his stubble-covered cheek like he was expecting it to cause him pain.

'You have a way with animals.' The Master commented, almost impressed.

'Even a slave can command respect from those below themselves.' Hermione replied easily, her fingers stroking a lazy pattern through his hair.

Deep gouges ran diagonally from his eye to his jaw, old and new scars that marred his otherwise handsome face.

'I trust there will be a discount because of these.' Hermione stated, fingers following the lines of the scars. A soft moan rumbled in the base of Lupin's throat as he closed his eyes in total bliss at her gentle touch.

'He's not worth displaying.' Lucius scoffed.

'There _will_ be a discount.' Hermione stated, and kneeling by her side, Lupin shuddered at the commanding tone in her voice.

'Tell me your pedigree, pup.' Hermione instructed.

Lupin's mouth opened and moved soundlessly, his amber eyes immediately filling with shame and self-loathing, unable to conjure the coherent words this close to the full moon.

'Born to a lower close wizard and witch,' Lupin supplied. 'Practiced magic until he was bitten at the age of twelve by none other than Fenrir Greyback.'

Hermione was impressed, recognising the famed sire.

'Stand, pup.' She commanded softly.

Lupin rushed to obey, clumsily getting to his feet and bowing his head as he shifted instinctively towards her. His naked chest showed every rib along his side, the light dusting of light brown hair bearing no relation to the wolf within. The only scrap of clothing he wore was a silver-grey fur pelt tied around his bony waist.

'And this?' Hermione questioned, thumb brushing against the fur.

'His own.' Lucius informed her. 'I had the werewolf partially skinned one full moon. Don't worry, there wasn't any permanent scarring.'

Lucius moved forward and Lupin's eyes widened and breath stuttered as he was encased in the bubble of cleansed air. With a graceful tug, Lucius removed the fur pelt and handed it to Hermione, leaving Lupin naked, his hands clenching behind his back with the desire to cover himself.

'Just so your house knows what they're purchasing.' Lucius indicated at the pelt in her arms. He turned to Lupin, and with one gloved hand, handled the lax genitals, displaying them for Hermione.

'Still has a few good years of siring left in him.' Lucius commented. 'Otherwise, we can geld him if you like.'

'That won't be necessary.' Hermione shook her head, rolling the pelt in her hands, stroking the soft fur.

Lucius moved around the werewolf and tapped the breadth of his shoulders with his cane. 'Broad shoulders, still capable of bearing heavy loads.' A sharp stab at Lupin's legs and he fell heavily to his knees again. 'Good condition, considering his age.'

Hermione held out the fur pelt and Lupin stared at it for a moment, before taking it and tying it around his waist. Hermione's hand dropped to the heavy collar, fingering the twin dog tags stating his information that hung at the base of his throat. Crescent shaped burns indented his skin where they touched.

'Silver?' she asked.

'The clasp is solid silver too.' Lucius agreed. 'He won't dare run. Well behaved, only needs the occasional beating before full moon to keep him in line.'

Carefully considering all the variables, Hermione decided on her purchase. 'Name your price.'

Lucius Malfoy did, and Hermione arched an eyebrow at the exuberant price. She named her own, undervaluing the beast by her side. 'I will also be taking his current collar.'

'Ridiculous.' Lucius huffed, and the bartering continued.

Eventually, they settled on a price midway between the two initial values, and Hermione also walked away with the collar, a length of leather as a temporary leash and the instructions for the cycle-extending potion, proving her capability as Head Slave.

The paperwork was completed efficiently and Hermione walked out of the slaves entrance to Malfoy Manor, the leather leash wrapped twice around her hand trailing behind her, attatched to the heavy collar of –as the paperwork she held declared –Remus Lupin the werewolf.

* * *

**_Well, I don't really know where this one came from, but at least I vaguely know where it's going. This is a slavery AU where Salazar Slytherin did convince the others to only educate purebloods at Hogwarts, eventually degenerating into a society where only the purebloods are allowed to practice magic and others (half-bloods, Mudbloods, part-humans) are sold and worked as slaves._**

**_Please review and tell me what you think!_**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Remus was no more clothed or cleaned than he was in the cell. The stench of excrement still clung to him and dirt streaked across his skin. He hunched over as he trailed behind Hermione, keeping so close that the leash constantly dragged on the ground. The approaching full moon was already conflicting his system, robbing him of more complex thoughts. The bright sun hurt his pale skin almost as much as a moonrise. He was slowly degenerating into his primal instincts, hardly coherent enough to recognise he had been bought. He hadn't noticed the black and red collar around his supposed Mistress's throat. His legs were weak and constantly stumbled as he walked a long distance for the first time in years. As he hunched over, he kept trying to catch glimpses of his Mistress's beautiful young face, so captivated he had been since his raised his gaze as he knelt beside her.

The streets were fairly crowded as they walked through the throng of people. They were mostly slaves, the Masters themselves preferring to apparate. Slaves weren't allowed to use magic, even if they had magical blood in their veins, let alone the fact that none had the required training. Remus stuck very close, glaring or even growling at anyone that dared to touch her as they walked.

Remus hoped they reached a public floo fireplace soon. Despite the thrill of an event in his usually monotonous life, Remus was beginning to feel distressed and tired in the new environment. Instability caused by the potion only a few days before the full moon kept him on edge. As a creature of habit, Remus craved a cell or a dungeon, somewhere he could curl on the floor and look forward to his Mistress's next visit.

Above all, Remus missed his mind over the years since the cycle-extending potion was developed. He wanted to be able to speak and thank his new Mistress with the eloquent words he used to posses and that she deserved.

A firm tug on his chain brought him back in to line, alerting Remus to the public fireplace they were approaching. The line was considerable, full of lower class slaves who were permanently bowed over and flinched at anyone with a strong presence. With a cold glare at the skinny wimp at the front, Hermione confidently strode ahead of the line. The level of power displayed by his new Mistress sent a twinge through Remus' gut.

Instinctual fear of magic made Remus's breath catch as Hermione lead him into the cramped fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder. He resisted the urge to clutch at his Mistress, but did clench his neck in order to more firmly feel his collar.

Hermione raised her clenched fist and spoke in a clear voice "The Burrow".

Remus' vision exploded into light and fire and when the flames receded, they were standing in an open field, miles upon miles of growing crops spreading in every direction. Hermione firmly led him and, now that he focused, he realised there was a large structure standing before him. The magic surrounding this place kept the Weasley house hidden from notice until either attention was drawn to it or someone informed you of its whereabouts. Now that he noticed it, Remus found it rather hard to look away. The house was… bright, each window a different colour than the last and the wood was built from, though mostly a deep red, seemed to slightly change with the wind and setting sun. It wasn't short and sprawling like Malfoy Manor, rather tall and stretched, haphazardly designed but beautiful in construction. The house also seemed to be bustling with life. Shadows chased each other past every window and garden gnomes were being hurled over the high hedge by a couple of laughing slaves. They sobered quickly as they saw Hermione approaching.

'Good afternoon, miss Hermione.' They dutifully acknowledged.

In return, Hermione gave the slaves a curt nod and continued around the base of the tall house. They passed a house elf on a tall ladder desperately trying to scrub a scorch mark from a now-yellow wall.

'Nippy.' Hermione addressed the small creature, who yelped in surprise. He peered down at the two and his large round eyes widened at the sight of Remus. 'Come down. I need your assistance with the new stock.'

'Yes, miss.' Nippy squeaked, and clambered down the ladder.

Behind the Weasley house, heavy wooden doors on the floor led to the family's small dungeon. Hermione waited impatiently at the trap door until Remus scrambled forward to open for her. Nippy snapped his fingers and a small ball of light zoomed off to light the lanterns. It illuminated a storage room-turned-dungeon. A wrought iron clasp of a lion baring its teeth was secured to the wall at shoulder height in a cleared out area that was larger by half that the cell he'd been kept in before.

Hermione unwound the leash and gave it to the small house elf who jumped forward and hovered up to the lion, hooking the leash over its teeth and snapping his bone-thin fingers. The clasp snapped closed and Remus was tugged slightly forward.

The magical clasp reeled him in, shortening the leash until Remus had just enough length to kneel and then lie down on the floor against the stone wall.

'Thank you, Nippy.' Hermione dismissed. The house elf bowed and scurried back up the stairs. Hermione turned to the curled up form of Remus. 'Food will be brought to you two times a day. I do not have time to deal with you this month, so your transformation will take place here.'

With that, Hermione turned on her heel to leave. Desperation gurgled through Remus, and he made a pathetic noise somewhere between begging and a whimper, reaching out for her. Hermione gave him a cold glare over her shoulder, but continued on.

* * *

As soon as Hermione closed the dungeon, there was the sharp pop of someone aparating and the long line of someone's body pressed against her back.

'Did you get me my present?' he breathed into her neck.

Another crack and a face grinned at her, identical to the one curving a smile into the shell of her ear.

'I did, Lord Master Fred.' Hermione answered curtly. She raised her eyes to the twin standing in front of her and greeted him with a bowed head. 'Lord Master George.'

Fred sighed dramatically and stepped away from touching her. 'How is it she can always tell?' he asked his counterpart.

'George is prettier.' Hermione said.

The breach of regulation by simply speaking without being spoken to would have had her beaten in the Black household. Her cheekiness would result in starvation for days on end until she would lick at her Masters shoes for forgiveness and the hope of some scraps.

'_This House is ruining me.'_ Hermione thought, and for not the first time, as the twins laughed at her remark. '_I'm a good slave, a good pleasure slave, and I'm wasting my best years as a Head Slave when I should retire to this position.'_

Hermione's sharp mind had deduced early in her ownership to the Weasley Household that the only way she could remain was to make herself unreplaceable. She wasn't a vain woman, but she knew full well that she was expensive. She was a valuable slave with pleasure training and still in the prime of her youth.

The Weasley family had no use for a pleasure slave. The parents were happily married with no desire to look elsewhere. The eldest, Bill, was married, Percy engaged and Charlie was slaughtered. The twins, though they often flirted and sometimes touched her, they were content in finding their own partners, and only occasionally used her services to break a dry spell.

That only left Ginny, who had no inclination, and Ronald. Ron, whom Hermione belonged to in name only, had only employed her services a handful of times since she'd come into his possession. Hermione wasn't sure what made the young Lord disinterested, but she wasn't complaining.

Noticing all this, Hermione sought out other ways to make herself unreplaceable. She knew the next time the financial squeeze became too tight, the pricy and unneeded pleasure slave would be the first to go. Being sold back to the Ministry would mean Market, where a slave's fate was at the mercy of the rabble.

Hermione rose to the position of Head Slave in under six months, proving her worth with dedicated effort to ensure the entire House ran smoothly. She tracked finances, managed lesser slaves and even had a significant hand in the Weasley twins business.

It was the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes that necessitated the purchase of the werewolf chained in the dungeon.

Fred rubbed his hands together gleefully and turned his attention to the dungeon doors. 'What did you get me?'

The doors flew open by magic and Hermione obediently followed her Masters into the darkness.

'A werewolf.' She answered.

'Ooh, exciting.' George waggled his eyebrows. The lanterns burst alight by whispered command and illuminated the curled up form of Remus Lupin.

'Good afternoon, slave.' Fred greeted loudly.

Remus lifted his head and blinked owlishly. His sluggish gaze settled on Hermione and his entire demeanour brightened in hope. He scrambled to his knees, presenting himself the best way he knew how in an attempt to impress her.

'I'm George, that's Fred, and welcome to the Burrow.'

A small crease formed between Remus' eyebrows as he tried to understand and process the new information. The long delay in his response caused Fred sigh dramatically.

'You got me a defective slave?' Fred grumbled, moving to stand behind Hermione and wrap a hand around her waist. 'Is that all you think about me?'

'Mind you.' George said, taking Remus' chin in hand and angling the slave's head, his nose wrinkling in distaste. 'He's a bit pretty.'

'He has been fed a potion containing wolfsbane. It keeps him feral and his bite poisonous.' Hermione reported.

George's eyes widened with intrigue and his hand snapped back. 'A potion to give a human-form its werewolf mind.'

Fred rested his chin on Hermione's head and stared at his brother. 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?'

'What if there's the reverse?' George continued, nodding along. 'A derivative of the original potion-'

'That can give a werewolf their human mind.' Fred finished excitedly. His hand slid to Hermione's hip and tapped his fingers absentmindedly while he thought.

Remus' eyes narrowed as he focused on the touch, a low growl rumbling through his body. Attuned to the werewolf's delicate emotions, Hermione managed to leap forward and pull George back.

Remus launched towards the twins, jaws snapping violently as he tried to seek revenge for his Mistress. He strained at his chain, teeth scaping dangerously close. Hermione pulled the Master out of the way and positioned herself in front of him.

She was knocked aside by the brutal force of the feral werewolf, her head connecting heavily against the stone floor. Fred yelled a charm and the leash recoiled, pulling Remus back until he was facing the wall, unable to move. George dropped down beside Hermione, cradling her skull gently.

His fingers came away slicked with blood. Still conscious, Hermione mumbled something incoherent, blinking sluggishly to clear her vision.

'Hermione, can you hear me?' George said, angling her head to face him.

''m okay.' Hermione answered quietly. She tried to sit up and winced in pain. She looked to where Remus was pulled tight against the wall, half his face pressed onto the stone. He stared at her with sorrow and fear in his eyes, whimpering quietly.

'We can't keep him, he's dangerous.' Fred growled, his wanted pointed at the nape of the werewolf's neck.

'No!' Hermione protested weakly. 'It's just the potion. He's… it makes him feral.'

Remus dug ragged fingernails into his face, tracing the diagonal scars, making them rise with red welts.

'Let him detox.' George said. 'Once the lunar cycle is complete, we can start working on the new potion.'

'By "we", you mean me.' Hermione said in a daze.

'Not until you can walk in a straight line.' George wagged a finger at her. Fred viciously stabbed Remus in the back of the neck with his wand before yelling for the gnome-throwing slaves. The two young boys carried Hermione out of the dungeon and took her into her quarters. Fred and George re-checked the charms on the werewolf's collar and leash, tossed a few pieces of meat and bowls of water nearby and locked the dungeon doors.

They wouldn't open again for seven days.

* * *

**_Damn it's been a long time since I did this. Please review, tell me what you think!_**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

When the heavy dungeon doors opened again, Remus sat upright. He quickly unbundled his own furred pelt he had been using as a pillow and wrapped it around his waist before the footsteps reached the stone floor.

'Miss Hermione.' He greeted, ducking his head and keeping a tight hold of the werewolf skin.

She gave a perfunctory smile, setting down a warm bowl of water and a cloth wrapped around a few supplies. 'How are you feeling?'

Remus gave a half-hearted shrug. 'No worse than usual.' He kept his eyes trained on her, far more focused on the detail now that he was more conscious of his surroundings. She as completely composed, still looking fresh and well-kept, despite the hour crawling late into the night. The black and red collar looked strangely decorative around her throat, rather than the pure function that comprised his own collar. Remus was still lashed to the wall with the short chain, the last few days spent pacing out the small distance allowed him, between the two separated buckets, one for food and one for waste, and sleeping on the dirty ground between.

'I'm sorry.' Remus said, vaguely gesturing to her head. 'I didn't mean to hurt you.'

Instinctively, Hermione's hand went up to touch the area behind her ear. 'It's no matter.' She dismissed, her fingers dragging down through her bushy hair to rest at the base of her throat, thumb unconsciously rubbing across the emblem. Remus couldn't help but watch their movement.

'I didn't… realise you were a slave.' Remus said, bending his head. 'Everything's a bit… fuzzy, but I thought you were my new Mistress.'

'Understandable. Though I am Head Slave of this household, and you will continue to submit to me.'

'Yes, M'lady.'

'This treatment should have come to you sooner, but I have been busy with the run of the house.' She said. 'Masters Fred and George have become insistent that research progress.'

'Research?' Remus asked, finally fastening the pelt around his waist so he could assist Hermione in unpacking her supplies. He removed a small cauldron from the wrap and carefully arranged the vials on the small table between them.

'We were discussing it earlier, don't you remember?' she asked.

Remus gave a self-depreciating smile. 'I feel like I don't remember much of anything. What year is it now?'

Hermione told him, and he frowned. 'It's been the better half of a decade now, since I've been aware of myself. 'Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most.' He quoted, wincing as he sat on the ground.

Hermione paused, staring at him in amazement. 'You know Mark Twain?'

Remus tilted his head. 'Well, yes. We didn't have a lot of money, but my parents always made sure we had some literature in the house, Muggle books were cheapest. We had this book of quotations, my dad would do different voices.' He took a handful of grains from his food bucket and gestured at the young woman across from him. 'What about you?'

'Mudblood.' She gave by way of explanation. Her voice was softer than he had ever heard it. 'I grew up on the other side. I would read anything I got my hands on. Novels, textbooks, poetry… I used to think there was real magic in the words.'

He sat forward, excitement in his veins purely by his own design. 'But there is. The magic is in the words, it always has been.'

Hermione gave him a humouring smile, which only served to encourage him.

'Why do you think every spell begins with the spoken word? Even the most powerful of wizards cannot conjure complex enchantments without speaking them into being.'

'You mean that spells have magic.' Hermione pointed out. 'Hardly ground breaking news.'

'But that's not all.' Remus insisted. 'Your Masters command and you obey. You speak to the lesser servants, you organise and lead them.' She was staring at him now, eyebrows knit as she listened. 'In books and in poetry… words make us laugh and cry. Even potions can't pull make those emotions genuine. Words carry ideas, which are harder to kill than any man with any number of Horcruxes.'

'Wow.' Hermione said. 'You really believe that; that words are magic?'

'Most ardently.'

The werewolf believed it with passion, one that made Hermione almost uncomfortable to see displayed so openly. Unsettled, her eyes flicked down to the potions supplies laid out between them. While it wasn't uncommon for slaves to be instructed to brew potions for their Masters, the art danced along a fine line of magic making. Hermione was always careful, always erring on the side of caution when it came to practicing magic.

And yet, if this werewolf's words were to be believed, those nights she had curled up, her head on her Master's knee as she read from the Black's large library collection, were dabbling in the forbidden arts. There were nights when the stories would be so finely crafted she would start crying or laughing into the material of his robes, and her Lord Master Sirius would order her to read the stories aloud while he lay back, his hand a comforting weight in her hair. And the words would impact him, as well. Although not quite to the same extent, Sirius always claimed his imagination was somewhat lacking compared to her own, his breath would catch at the right moments and his hand would tighten in her hair.

She was working magic on him. A pleasure slave, a mudblood, casting magic over her Lord Master, the most pure blooded, the Head of the Family Black.

The thought was intoxicating.

Hermione sprinkled a fine powder into the cauldron and bent in towards Remus.

'Tell me about the books you have read.' She whispered.

* * *

Learning had always been Hermione's weakness. She devoured books and knowledge and almost always applied it. The temptation to stay in the dungeon and whisper secret truths to each other was very great, but by early evening, her responsibilities were pressing. Dinner had to be arranged and she had many other duties to attend to.

As she stood to leave, Remus held onto her hand, his eyes bright with a long-lost passion. He made her promise to try and sneak a single book into their dungeon, that they might read it together while they worked on the treatment. She agreed almost without hesitation.

The night ran smoothly, demonstrating that even half distracted, Hermione was still a competent and efficient Head Slave. All family members were well attended to, and even the slaves had a satisfying meal. The bed covers were turned down and the twins indulged in lazily taking turns kissing her against the hallway wall, not as a reward or to reach climax, simply because they enjoyed it.

The Burrow became quiet and dark as Hermione carefully examined the protection spells, the needs to be met tomorrow. During her examination of the house, she stole into the small, cramped library and plucked a book from the shelf, intent on hiding it underneath her pillow.

Too late she noticed the figure standing in the kitchen, hunched over an opened bottle. Head immediately bowed, she tried to silently step away, tried to stay invisible like the good slave she was.

'No.' The man said, looking up from under his stringy red hair. 'I want to fuck you tonight.'

'Sir, your brothers have requested I begin work on-'

'Am I not your Lord Master?' he yelled. A glass shattered, swept to the ground by his sweeping gestures as he stumbled towards Hermione. 'You were given to _me._ You obey me. If I push you over a table, you bend!'

Hermione didn't quiver or shudder; she was too well trained, too experienced to fear a drunken Master. She merely met his red-rimmed, wet eyes and nodded, reassuring him. 'Yes, my Lord.'

His jaw clenched, Ron Weasley took a step backwards and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle of liquor. He took two steady gulps before he seemed to remember Hermione was still awaiting orders.

'Go to my bedroom and take off your clothes.'

Hermione bowed her head at Lord Master Ron. 'Yes, My Lord.'

* * *

**_Ever feel absolutely rotten over writing a character in an AU? I'm so sorry Ron! But we'll get to dive into his character a little next chapter. I really enjoyed writing this Remus and Hermione interaction._**

**_Please review and tell me what you think!_**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

When the dungeon doors opened again, Remus stilled his pacing and blinked rapidly against the harsh light of the outside world. Hermione descended the stairs, well dressed and composed, even her hair had been tamed into submission.

'Did you bring a book for us?' he asked excitedly.

'No.' Hermione replied coolly.

'Are – are you alright?' Remus asked, reaching out to her and stepping forward. The chain snapped taunt and he stopped, just out of reach. 'You said you would come back first thing this morning, it's been hours.'

'I had other duties to attend to.' Hermione replied. She settled her usual position in front of the supplies. She didn't look at him though, so Remus felt the need to press.

'Emergency in the pantry?' he quipped.

She levelled a glare at him. 'Lord Master Ron had need of my services, so I provided them for him.'

The answer obtained, Remus sub-consciously stole a glance up the dungeon stairs. 'Is, he a good master?'

Hermione hesitated for a moment before she answered. 'He's lonely. And overlooked. He's been second-rate his entire life, and never had a friend. The only boy in his year and house was Neville Longbottom, and as far as I know, Ron bullied him mercilessly through his entire schooling at Hogwarts. And he was bullied in return by Lord Malfoy's son. Ron Weasley is a deeply unhappy man.'

'So that makes it alright for him to take you to his bed?' Remus asked.

'Everything Lord Master Ron owns has been handed down from his brothers. I am the only thing given to him specifically.' Hermione defended him. 'Besides, it is my skill set, and I am good at fucking and pleasuring.'

Remus flinched and bent his head. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' Hermione said. 'Besides, you're only eight years too late.'

She watched the colour drain from his face as he stared at her, trying to count backwards and he feared the worst. She enjoyed his pain for a moment before she laughed and took pity. 'It's okay. I'm older than I look.' She held out a hand. 'I need to take a sample of your blood.'

He willingly placed his arm in her hand. 'How old are you?'

'Twenty-two.' She replied.

'What!' Remus exclaimed. 'You were only fourteen?'

'That was when my pleasure training was completed.' Hermione nodded, dragging a small dagger over his flesh, thick blood dripping into a rusty chalice. 'My first Lord Master was very gracious to me. I served him, but he did not touch me for a full year.'

Remus felt acid churn in his gut. 'He must have been a real saint. Ow!'

She smiled and raised her eyebrows, daring him to keep complaining or disrespecting her late Master. She pulled the dagger out of his skin and set it to the side and wiped it on a cloth.

'Now your hair.' She gestured and Remus bent his neck downwards, presenting his light brown hair to her. With a few sharp tugs she had all she needed.

'Tell me about your old Master?' Remus asked quietly, his neck still bent.

Hermoine ran a hand through his hair, pressing her fingers into his stinging scalp. 'He was very handsome. Old, but also young. He was a very powerful wizard, and Head of the very powerful House, but… playful and charismatic. He was a good Master.'

'What happened to him?' Remus' voice took on the same hushed tones Hermione's had dropped to.

'He died. Two years ago now. The Twins, Fred and George remind me of him sometimes.'

'You must miss him.' Remus said.

'Very much.' Hermione said, fingers tucking behind his ears. 'My Master was very kind to me. He let me read and think and explore, indulged my thirst for knowledge when he could have just restricted me to his bed.' Hermione released Remus' head and smiled at the fond memories of her Master as she packed up the supplies.

'What was his name?' Remus requested.

'His name was Sirius Black.' Hermione replied.

'No.' Remus breathed. A deathly chill took over his body, mouth dropping open as the name registered.

'What's wrong?' Hermione asked, worried.

An unquenchable anger rose up in Remus and he bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. 'Get out.' He growled.

'Lupin–' she reached forward but he shoved her away. His hands were shaking with fury as he clenched them into fists and pressed them into his forehead. Nails dragged down the scars on his face, making them freshly redden.

'I held onto hope for so long.' He whispered.

'Did you know him?' Hermione demanded. 'Tell me!'

'Please, please just leave me.' He begged. Remus tucked himself against the wall, gathering the extra chain around his arms until it dug into his skin.

She stayed, for a moment, until the steady sound of his skin scraping against the rough stonework as he rocked himself became too much. It unsettled her, this extreme reaction, but she could be patient.

She would pull the answer from her disobedient pup, Hermione decided as she took the samples out of the dungeon. With kindness or with cruelty, she would extract any information about her former Master.

When the dungeon doors slammed shut, Remus bent over his waste bucket and vomited out the slimy contents of his stomach and drank from the trough. He counted out 10 panicked breaths, and then purposefully slowed his breathing, counting his heart rate until he lost count in the triple digits. He buried his head in his hands.

Half-naked, scared and chained in a dungeon, Remus wept with disappointment and pain for the friend he thought was a better man.

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